


(Un)Feeling.

by soliloqui



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Banorashipping if you squint, Depressive Episode, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, tw: depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5757628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliloqui/pseuds/soliloqui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>„…and I mean, this isn’t even about what we’re bringing forward as a group anymore at all, is it? Those fools down in Administration wouldn’t even know what kinda <i>forms</i> to fill out to handle it at all, when really this is just so much about achievement and bloody proving yourself rather than what kinda filled lobster the President had for lunch, right? Y’know what I mean?”</p><p>Angeal really, really didn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Un)Feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> The next chapter of Sideways is sadly still gonna be taking a while, but last week while I was feeling pretty down I wrote this as a sort of coping thing, and I was originally gonna delete it from tumblr again but I got some pretty positive response on it so whatever. Just gonna leave this here. *runs*

„…and I mean, this isn’t even about what we’re bringing forward as a group anymore at all, is it? Those fools down in Administration wouldn’t even know what kinda _forms_ to fill out to handle it at all, when really this is just so much about achievement and bloody proving yourself rather than what kinda filled lobster the President had for lunch, right? Y’know what I mean?”

Angeal really, really didn’t.

Hadn’t even been paying any attention at all for the last five minutes, if he was being completely honest; focusing instead on the spinach pasta on the plate in front of him and adding nods and ‘mh-hm’s at what he hoped were appropriate places.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem his input was required at this point in time however, as Colonel Jones was already continuing with his tirade on… whatever his problem was, anyway.

All Angeal knew was that it was something shallow; and he really couldn’t handle shallow right then. But propriety (and honor) demanded he finish consuming his lunch rather than making the hasty retreat out of the cafeteria he was currently aching for.

He should’ve just packed a lunch.

But as it was, Angeal had already been pressed for time that morning. It was one of _those days_. The kind of days where he had trouble falling asleep half the night; blearily missed his first two alarms in the morning, which made him pressed for time and unable to complete his morning routine. Not greeting his plants ‘hello’ in the morning always left him feeling a little lopsided and unbalanced for the rest of the day.

His mind was still mulling over a complicated mission report during his scheduled combat lessons with the Third Classes – and by complicated, he meant ‘actions of questionable intent’ and ‘cover-ups’ and ‘Shinra politics’ and ‘you know what not to write in that report if you know what’s good for you, son’ and he really, really just wanted to go to bed already. Curl up beneath his warm blanket, let someone else do things. Catch up on sleep, if he could.

One of the young Soldiers had hopefully asked him about extra lessons after class today. A bright-eyed, lean-muscled kid; he had potential. Angeal had felt bad about it, but told him to approach him again another time, he was busy, had places to be. The First Class desperately hoped the kid would have the guts to actually ask him again later, when he was feeling a little more like himself; he hated to squash talent.

Colonel Jones was _still_ talking across from him, hastily stuffing some bites of food into his mouth between words. At the moment, Angeal wasn’t sure what was worse: Listening another minute to the monologue and risk being asked an actual question he wouldn’t be able to answer, or sitting in his quiet, cramped little office alone in front of a mountain of paperwork.

Eventually, he managed to excuse himself, the pasta (which had been bland and lumpy on his tongue) mostly gone and lunch break close to over.

“Thanks for listening to me Angeal, I always know you’ve got my back about this!”

“Of course, Aaron. Anytime.”

_Just not anytime soon, please._

Angeal felt disconnected as he walked down the hallways to his office. All those people bustling, talking, chatting, drinking coffee out of Styrofoam cups and pushing trolleys full of files in front of them. Sometimes he wondered how they did it. How could they so easily drown out the blatant reality that was Shinra, a multinational, megalomaniac enterprise known for its clean surface covering the shady workings underneath?

He considered for a moment seeking out Genesis.

He desperately _wanted_ to see Genesis.

But then, that would simply seem needy, and Angeal knew, if nothing else, that Genesis _hated_ needy.

As it turned out, the choice was taken from him.

The Crimson Commander was already waiting in front of his office doors for him, Loveless in hand but pacing restlessly. Clearly something had tussled the red bird’s immaculate feathers.

“Thank Gaia, Angeal! The hell have you been?! You wouldn’t believe what kind of stunt this… _pompous_ , self-centered, silver-haired son-of-a-bitch pulled yesterday!”

Angeal quickly unlocked the door and pulled his friend inside by the elbow before the curious passers-by could listen in to anymore gossip of what their adored Silver General had apparently been up to.

“What did he do?”

The ravenette barely had time to close the door behind them and drop his bag on the desk before Genesis launched into a tirade which, by the sounds of it, he had been rehearsing repeatedly in his head for the past couple of hours.

“The fucking _nerve_ of him, I swear—“

From what Angeal could gather, Genesis and Sephiroth had both been in the proximity of some impressionable Thirds and Seconds the last evening, when the General had made the mistake to publicly criticize his Commander in front of the kids. Sephiroth had, naturally, been right with his remark, but too socially inept to recognize the situation as one where the comment should not have been brought forth.

Same old, same old.

Rather than continue listening to the repeating torrent of words, Angeal watched his friend. His gestures always turned wide and agitated whenever he was talking about their mutual friend (if you could even use that word; Genesis would immediately correct it to ‘rival’). Those bright blue eyes rolled wildly in their sockets while the man kept walking back and forth, back and forth, his steps quick and loaded with restless energy.

For a moment there, Angeal almost got the crazy idea to step forward, lay a hand on Genesis’ shoulder and say—

_Stop._

_I miss you._

_I need you._

Ridiculous.

He almost missed the pause in Genesis’ pacing, but was ripped back to the present from his silent musings when his friend asked, “Did they change your Mako schedule?”

Angeal froze for the slightest second. They both knew the regular Mako shots jumbled Angeal’s brain chemistry for a few days until his body grew used to the chemical, resulting in curious mood swings. Genesis got them too, though not as bad, and usually they just caused him to grow more irritated, if anything; quite the opposite from himself.

Angeal just got… quiet.

He took a moment to curse himself for letting that much show. Mako shots would have been a nice excuse, but no.

“I’m not due for another week,” he said while shaking his head.

There was still a slight crease between Genesis’ brows, but he seemed rather eager to let it go. “Well, wanna go grab some coffee then?”

Angeal thought the warm recycling paper of the cups would have felt nice beneath his fingers, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand another hour of Genesis raving about Sephiroth. Besides, he did actually have work to do.

He was about to shake his head when Genesis glanced at his watch and cursed. “Oh fuck it, nevermind. I was actually supposed to be at that meeting half an hour ago. Not like I care, but I still need to get some coffee to-go, then. If I have to listen to Palmer’s rants later, I’ll need some hot beverage to ‘accidentally’ spill on his papers. See ya.”

And then the red-clad whirlwind vacated the room, leaving a few documents to glide lazily through the air towards the carpet.

The lock clicked, and he was alone again.

The stack of papers settled, and Angeal propped his tired head on a hand. He wanted to sleep. He could lay his cheek on the desk, right here, just close his eyes for a minute and forget about that report he needed to do. His eyes burned something fierce today, and there was a too-familiar, stuffy feeling in his chest.

But no. He was a respected Commander of the armies, a role model many young recruits looked up to. He had an image to fulfil and couldn’t be seen slacking off like this.

He got to work, though the ‘complicated’ mission report somehow continued getting pushed towards the back. He just… couldn’t right now. It wasn’t about to run anywhere.

Angeal ended up staying overtime, dreading the quiet of his apartment and having settled into the rhythm of signing forms and papers. At least it gave him something to do. Sometime past eight though, he had no choice but to go home.

His plants were waiting for him patiently, as plants were wont to do. Rather than making himself some quick dinner first, he started the meticulous process of watering and grooming the various flora in his rooms, as though to make up for the lost morning time.

Every single plant had different needs, a different story, and he took the time to care for all of them. He clipped away brown leaves, dedusted green and red ones, checked the moistness of the soil. It was familiar, and brought a little shred of peace to Angeal’s soul. Until a particular plant reminded him of his mother.

Gillian Hewley had given him the little palm tree, native to Banora, a few years ago. It was starting to show some small white spots on the leaves, as though from mold.

The last time the two had been talking on the phone, they had not parted on good terms.

It was nothing but a silly argument, but now, seeing the mildew on the long, slender leaves made him wish he lived closer, so he could drive over quickly, maybe bring her some pie, and apologize. He knew the words would seem hollow through the phone.

He was just looking down and taking a deep breath when he heard the distinctive beep of his lock combination being entered and the door to his apartment swishing open. There were only two people who had his combination, and he knew Sephiroth had left on a mission just this morning.

There was the distinctive sound of a jacket being shed and the cushions on his couch being squished from a heavy weight, followed by a satisfied huff.

“Just two more,” Angeal mumbled tonelessly.

“Take your time,” was replied in a lyrical drawl.

He finished up with the last two of his plants, determined not to mess up another one of his routines just because his friend decided to drop by uninvited again.

At last, Angeal turned around and leaned against the window sill behind him.

“What can I do for you, Genesis?”

The redhead was reclining on the couch lazily, limbs stretched in all four directions while leaning against the backrest. Sometime this evening, he had apparently switched from his usual non-standard uniform into something more comfy, and Angeal was almost surprised to see the simple sweatpants and fluffy shirt on the Commander.

Genesis didn’t reply immediately, instead folding his arms over his chest and regarding him quietly for a moment. Angeal had to stop himself from fidgeting under the close scrutiny.

“Wrong question.”

He _really_ wasn’t in the mood for these kind of games this evening. If Genesis needed to blow off some more steam about his grievance against the General, so be it; Angeal could force himself to listen a while longer to his friend before going to hide in his bed. But he was not going to play a guessing game with him.

Prompted by Angeal’s impatient nod of his head, Genesis continued, sitting up slightly and leaning his elbows on his knees.

“The question, my friend, is what I can do for you.”

…Huh?

When he saw his friend wasn’t quite following him, Genesis patted the space next to him on the couch.

Angeal walked over slowly and sat down. When he looked up briefly, he saw Genesis’ shrewd eyes on him, and suddenly it felt like he was stripped bare in front of that gaze. Did Genesis know?? Was he going to mock him for it? Was Angeal just making it all up?

He looked away, glancing first at his slippered feet, then the edge of the carpet, the side table and back again.

Angeal startled when he felt a warm hand on his back.

“I’m sorry for acting like such a prick today. C’mere.”

And then that hand was pulling him over, and Angeal couldn’t have resisted if he tried.

Kicking away the slippers, Angeal bent his knees until his feet were on the couch and he was kneeling sideways – fuck propriety. And by then Genesis had scooted over on the couch, wrapping his arms around Angeal’s broad shoulders and drawing him in until his forehead came to rest somewhere on Genesis’ collarbone. They collectively leaned back in the soft cushions and Angeal buried his face in the soft fluff of Genesis’ sweater.

He didn’t cry, because crying wasn’t a thing Angeal Hewley did. But just for a moment, he allowed himself to _feel_.

He took a ragged breath, and all Genesis did was start rubbing circles in his back, through the thin fabric of his uniform shirt.

“Quiet night-in?” his friend asked, and he nodded.

Angeal expected the other to pull away sometime after that, but Genesis didn’t. Stayed right there as he was, a solid presence that didn’t ask, didn’t question, didn’t leave, only held him in his arms until a time when Angeal could face the world again.

Later would be time for take-out and cheap beer and crappy movies, but right now, this… this was enough.

 


End file.
